Slapshots and Spurs Bonus Scene
Wendy
ONE MONTH LATER
If I could bottle the sound of my mother screaming over the turkey timer, I’d sell it as a holiday alarm.
“Wendy!” she hollers from the kitchen. “Where’s the sweet potatoes?”
“On the counter … next to the marshmallows!” I shout back, even though she’ll ignore me and ask again in ten seconds.
Behind me, Slapshot leans against the doorframe, arms folded over a chest that looks like it was carved by a hockey stick. He’s wearing a red sweater that says Let’s Get Lit with a string of blinking LED lights and an expression that could curdle eggnog.
“Your family’s … energetic,” he mutters.
“That’s one word for it.”
The chaos swirls around us. Kids running with candy canes, my uncle trying to fix the string lights by chewing on them (why, no one knows), my mom interrogating Wallace about his “career in violent ice ballet.”
He’s surviving. Barely.
But then my little cousin yells, “Wendy’s boyfriend’s a hockey hunk!” and everyone freezes.
Wallace blinks. “Hockey hunk?”
I elbow him. “Don’t look at me. You earned that nickname when you lifted a forty-pound turkey one-handed.”
“Wasn’t heavy.”
“You grunted.”
“I was stretching.”
I grin up at him, and for the first time all night, his mouth curves in that half smile that melts me faster than whipped cream on cocoa.
Later, after the house quiets…
The lights on the tree blink soft gold, casting shadows across the living room. Snow drifts against the window. Wallace sits beside me on the couch, arm around my shoulders, watching It’s a Wonderful Life like it’s a documentary about suffering.
“You’re doing great,” I whisper. “No visible twitching.”
“I survived the third retelling of your parents’ engagement story,” he says. “I can survive anything.”
“You say that now.” I tilt up to kiss his jaw. “Wait until tomorrow’s pajama breakfast.”
His laugh rumbles through me, low and rough. “That involve clothing?”
“Depends how naughty you’ve been.”
His gaze drops to my lips. “Then I’m doomed.”
Before I can reply, he slides me onto his lap, pulling me against him. The lights flicker, the fire pops, and his kiss steals the rest of my sentence.
When he finally pulls back, breath ragged, his grin turns wicked. “Think we can make Christmas even hotter than Thanksgiving, Sweet Potato?”
I trace a finger down his chest. “In my parents’ house?”
“Promise I’ll be quiet,” he growls.
“I can’t make that promise,” I giggle.
“Wanna head back to the cabin? Say we ‘forgot’ something?”
“Mmm,” I murmur. “Best idea all night.”
We kiss again, deep and slow, while snow falls and Bing Crosby croons.
“I can make more whipped cream,” I tease, palming his cheek.
“Don’t have to ask twice,” he says, jumping to his feet, me in his arms, and heading for the door.
I wrap my arms around his neck, resting my head against his chest. My heartbeat, my love, my hunky hockey player.
Catalina & Donovan
A Hollywood hunk turned hometown hero. A curvy bookworm who’s sworn off love. One small-town bachelor auction about to spark an inferno.
I used to play a firefighter on TV. The money was good … enough to put myself through school and earn the badge for real. But to the guys on my crew, I’ll always be “Hollywood.” Just a pretty face, not a real firefighter. And every woman in this town seems eager to test that theory. Except Catalina Dupont.
The nerdy, curvy beauty wins me at the Rough & Ready charity auction. She doesn’t want a fling. I’m not sure I know how to offer more. But one night with her might just rewrite the script and prove that the hottest fire I’ve ever faced is the one she lights in me.